Microcosmos
by xXConiferXx
Summary: "The only proof that the two of them had ever seen what they had seen and lived through what they had lived; gone by tomorrow, erased by the waves as the tide came in." The story of Rose and Tentoo after Journey's End.
1. Chapter 1

**Sorry to anyone who was expecting a new chapter of Symbiosis ( Which I usually update today,) but I've been really busy as of late. So here's this instead! **

**This fic includes the deleted scene from Journey's end, so if you haven't seen that, go find it now. Or don't, I don't mind. watch?v=FcqdojFsuNo Or here's a link. :D  
Set seconds after the Doctor leaves Rose and the Metacrisis on the beach.**

The sound of the departing TARDIS echoed in their ears. A faint square was sunken into the sand before them, the only evidence that the magical blue box had ever been on that beach, on that world, in that universe. The only proof that the two of them had ever seen what they had seen and lived through what they had lived; gone by tomorrow, erased by the waves as the tide came in.

The Doctor who still stood on the beach stepped closer to the other form.

"Rose…?" She didn't look over, didn't even blink. One might have though she was a statue, save for the wind running its thin fingers through her hair. She stood, stock-still, on the damp sand as his fingers brushed hers, aching for some sort of contact. She swayed for a moment, falling half-way to the sand before he caught her and wrapped his arms around her waist to keep her from slipping further.

"You left." She muttered into his jacket softly, making no effort to leave his arms. He said nothing, simply nodding sadly though she couldn't see. (He couldn't deny it, he had left her. But he was also here.) "Again."

"I know." He pressed his lips into the top of her head. The waves roared in the time between their words. "Rose, " he muttered into her hair. "You need to understand." She tensed beneath his fingers, pulling herself away to look at him properly.

"I do," she protested weakly. Neither could bring their eyes to meet the other's. "I can't go, he can't stay." She sighed shakily. "I 'spose this is what's best, yeah?"  
His breath caught. "No," he said. Her eyes widened. He didn't want this? (Of course, she chided herself. No-one had asked his opinion in this whole mess.) "He could have stayed and you could have gone. He was- we were-" he corrected. "-being selfish."

"How so?" She asked, dubiously, letting out a shaky breath. ( She hadn't expected him to say anything, never mind what he did.)

"Because we're his dream." He continued after a while, rubbing his fingers across her knuckles and tugging on his ear with his other hand. "We're everything he wanted for you. A life…a real life, with a job and a house that's a proper home. Doors and things; Carpets, a mortgage. The whole she-bang." He paused. " Never saying that again." He muttered, before continuing. "It's all he wanted for himself, but could never let himself have." Rose opened her mouth to say something, but he continued on without giving her a chance to say anything.  
"We're a life he can live with you. _Forever._ You're keeping your promise, Rose. You'll stay with him forever, in his memories and dreams. Forever, he'll keep us alive, pretending a life for us for as long as he lives. When we're long gone, we'll be alive to him. He won't have to face your death, Rose. Ever. " He threaded his fingers into hers. "Meanwhile, I get to live his dreams. I get to grow old with you, have the life he wanted. I get to see you smile and laugh and_ live_, Rose Tyler."

The wind blew between them, in the moments that felt like hours.

" That is," he hesitated, her silence making him nervous. "If you want that. I could go, if you don't… If this is all too much." (He hoped it wasn't. But no one had asked her, he remembered, if she wanted a half-alien dumped onto her life.)

And suddenly she was wrapped in his arms, shoulders shaking and hands trembling against his chest.  
The two of them stood there for ages, crying and comforting and simply _being._Eventually, somehow, they lowered themselves onto the sand, ignoring the wet that seeped into their clothing. They whispered softly about everything and nothing, about things that didn't matter and things that did. (In comparison to that fact that they had one another again nothing much mattered.) They avoided anything that brought painful memories – the strange, sad look in his eyes, the scars that had made their way onto her skin, or what Martha had meant when she said that he'd finally found her.

The sun was low, reaching for the waves on the horizon, when the airship to take them home finally arrived (The Doctor loved that word, home. It reminded him of laughter and the feel of Rose's hand in his. ) and Jackie pulled them from their reverie.

Their hands never parted from that moment that they left each other's arms to the moment where they could be back in them, sitting on one of the uncomfortably stiff chairs in the observation room. The world moved slowly around them and they sat in silence, untouched and long forgotten cups of tea resting on a table nearby. It wasn't until they had reached the door of the mansion that somebody spoke above a whisper, though it stung at their ears as it shattered the silence.

"Rose, why don't you show him around? " It was more statement than a question. " I'll keep Tony busy."

"Thanks, mum," Rose replied quietly, guiding him up the stairs.

"This'll be your room, Doctor," she told him, trying to open the door while her dominant hand was clasped in his.

"Still the Doctor, then?" He replied quietly, cautiously, in case it had been a slip of the tongue and that wasn't who he was to her anymore. ( He'd be happy no matter what she called him, as long as she did.)

"No arguments from me," She smiled softly, leading him into the room. He squeezed her fingers tightly before dropping them, shoving them into his pockets and rocking on his heels. He looked around the room. (It wasn't bad, but the distinct lack of the soft humming of the TARDIS unnerved him.) A bed sat against the wall, the comforter a light brown instead of the deep red that it was in his old bedroom. Next to the bed there was a small end table, placed upon which was a rather large lamp and a rather small clock.  
A rug sat on the floor, shades of browns and whites entwined in a tight spiral. A large wooden dresser sat by that, against the wall and beside a door that he assumed led to a bathroom.

"My room's right next to this one," Rose said after a few moments, letting out a breath that she hadn't realized she had been holding as the Doctor assessed the room. He grinned at her, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. She smiled back, though, and pretended she hadn't notice. (Her smile didn't reach her eyes either, but like her he pretended not to see.)  
The Doctor nodded slightly, and she held out her hand to him, unconsciously desperate to make the silence comfortable again. (This was a different silence; a threatening, thick one and not a silence of warm words and soft hands.) He took it in his, interlocking their fingers as if doing so would create a knot that could keep them both from fraying.  
(In a way, it would.)


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next few days, they spoke of the things the other had missed. The easy things, said with a faint smile of fond memories, the things that they laughed about. (Never the good-byes, never the scars.)

He spoke little about himself, fascinated by the life that Rose had been leading –creating the cannon, about Mickey and Jake and a slew of other names that held no face yet. She told him about the stories of the man in the blue box that she told to Tony when he should have been asleep. About the one time that Jackie found them.

"An' she just stood there, at the door, listening." Rose told him. "Told me off in the morning, though." She smiled at the Doctor, brushing a stray piece of blonde hair from in front of her eyes. "I started to run out of stories after a while. At least he doesn't mind repeats."

"Does have a favorite?" He asked, glancing towards the sky. A fleet of ships fashioned from heavy, dark clouds were gliding their way across the ocean of blue that was the sky.

She nodded, following his gaze. "Remember the werewolf?"

"Oh! Queen Victoria!" He grinned, tilting his head to look at Rose. "He has excellent taste." A pause. "But it wasn't a werewolf, strictly speaking."

Rose giggled, wrapping her arms around his and resting her head on his arm. (Anyone watching might think that they were normal. They didn't know their stories, nor could they see the haunted look that was held behind their eyes that held more years than their bodies.) "I know. But he's only six – I don't think he'd understand that."

"You never know."

"No…I guess you don't." Suddenly, the conversation wasn't about Tony or alien werewolves or Queen Victoria. Rose released his arm, the cold air filling the gap between them. "How…different are you?" She asked, her voice timid as she asked the question they both wanted to know the answer to.

The Doctor made a noncommittal sound, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know, Rose. I really don't. One heart, like I said yesterday. My senses aren't quite as good as they used to be. Not as bad as yours, but not a Time Lord's…taste buds might have changed. I might like pears. Imagine that, _me_ liking _pears._"

"Still like bananas?"

"Always." He confirmed, catching her fingers in his.

"But really, pears aren't that bad."

"Rose Tyler, you are not allowed anywhere near me if you have eaten pears recently."

Rose frowned, looking up at him. "How recent is recently?"

"A week." She stepped away, their hands creating a taught tether between them. "Where are you going?"

"Ate pears before I went to find the Doc- to find you." ( He pretended not to notice her stutter, but it twisted like a knife in his gut.)

"An hour, then." He finally said, the words coming out nearly too quickly as he tried to fill the space that his hesitation had created.

"We'll have to perform some experiments, then. Do things you used to be able to do and see if you can do them."

" That would be the reasonable course of action."

"Food wise, I don't have much. We could stop by the grocery before we head to my flat."

"Your flat…?"

"I mean, if you want to." She replied hastily. "I'm sure mum and Pete wouldn't mind if you stayed there for a bit. Or you can get a hotel room, if you want a bit more…space."

" What do you want me to do…?" (Would she even want him there? Or was her offer just obligatory, out of pity that he was stuck here with no-where else to do?)

"Whatever you feel most comfortable with."

"No, that's not what I meant."

"I know."

"Well?"

She dropped his hand, pulling her hands over her chest as she half-whispered her reply. "I'd like it if you stayed with me."

"Okay."

He stood in the living room of Rose's home, though it wasn't much of one. The furnishings were sparse – a cheap ceramic vase with plastic flowers that sat on the table at the end of the small couch was one of the most personal things in the room, the others being four small, framed pictures that hung on the walls. One was a child's crayon drawing of a blue box and two stick figures – pink and yellow and brown and blue (Him and Rose with the TARIDS, the Doctor realized with a faint smile.) Another was a picture was one that must have been taken at Torchwood. Mickey, Pete, Jake, and Rose, along with a few unfamiliar people, were grinning at the camera. The third picture was one of the Tyler family. The last one surprised the Doctor, as it was a picture that must have been taken back in the other universe, on Christmas Day. Pink crowns were perched on his and Rose's heads.

"How did you…" his question trailed off as Rose entered the room. She had seen were he had been looking.

"Mickey." She half-answered, shoving her own hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt, mimicking his stance. "He got it off my old cell."

"Ah."

They were quiet for what seemed to be ages. The silence was dull, like that of a sword that had been used too many times. ( But even dull swords can cause pain.)

Finally, Rose spoke. "What's your name?"

The confusion that her question brought must have played on his face. "The Doctor." He answered, a slight question pulling at the end. "I thought you…"

She smiled, a small, short laugh escaping from between her lips. "No, I mean, what name will you put on papers and things? I don't think that The Doctor will work."

It took him a second to answer. " John Smith, I guess. If that's alright."

She nodded, smiling a smile that wasn't quite the one he wanted to see. ( He hadn't see that smile – the tongue-out, wide smile, or one at least when her eyes smiled too.) "Should be fine."

Rose and the Doctor spoke little for the rest of the day after that, both trying to fully realize that they were _there_with each other, just as they had started to believe it would never happen.

They slept with open doors that night, the sounds of their restless tossing and turning reminding the other that they were really there between the bouts of fitful sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

It was only a matter of time until the paparazzi became curious about the strange man that, quite literally, dropped into Rose Tyler's life. The Vitex heiress was mysterious enough on her own, with her seemingly random appearance, her seeming lack of a social life, and the fact that no one actually knew what she did for a living. There was theories of course, some more believable than others. Some said that she was a school teacher, though there was no proof of that. Some said that she worked from home, though there were no clues as to what she did. Yet others still claimed that she worked for a semi- underground agency dealing with the protection of the country from aliens, but _that_ idea was preposterous.  
Long story short, she hadn't given the tabloids much to gossip about after the first month and a few interviews. So when Dr. John Smith, a man that they had known nothing about, suddenly appeared at her side, they had a heyday.

"Excuse me, just…" She elbowed a few photographers, trying to make it through the crowd to rescue the man that was stuck in the middle of it.

Lights flashed around them as the paparazzi worked away on their cameras. "Mr. Smith! Can you tell us-"

"No, he can't." Rose cut in, grabbing his arm.

"Miss Tyler! Is this the man you said-" A microphone was shoved into her face.

"No comment!" She said before the question could be finished, pulling the slightly terrified Doctor into the flat and closing the door – or rather, slamming it – quickly.

"Blimey…" He muttered, peering out the peephole in the door to look at the suddenly upset people out front of their door. Then he turned to her and smiled slightly, an unspoken 'thank-you' for rescuing him from the crowd.  
" 'Man you said' what?" He asked a few minutes later, as she was glancing out the window. The crowd was quickly dispersing, thankfully. "You talked about me? Him?"

Rose shook her head, closing the blinds anyway. "You." She replied quietly, collapsing onto the rather uncomfortable couch. (Maybe she had already accepted him to be the Doctor, or maybe she was pretending that he was.) "Should have warned you."

"I'm still alive." He grinned slightly, sitting in the chair in the corner and watching her.

"Yeah, you are. The milk didn't make it, though?" She asked, as if suddenly noticing. He shook his head. "We'll go get some tomorrow."

They sat for a short while, the silence neither stifling nor comforting or anything bad or anything good until Rose finally broke it.

"You can come to Torchwood with me tomorrow, if you want." She offered. "There's some people who I'd like you to meet. And you can raid the storage for stuff to plant the TARDIS."

"No one will mind?"  
She shook her head, and the silence resumed.

And so the next morning, the Doctor found himself putting names to the faces on the picture on Rose's wall.  
The day after that, they planted the small piece of coral in the only place that had enough room, where no prying eyes would find it, and where they could make a bit of a mess and no-one would care – the attic of the Tyler mansion.

xXxXx

On the seventh day, he cracked.

Rose couldn't sleep- which wasn't distinctly unusual, she rarely slept much and that rang even truer now that he was here.

She found him sitting on the porch, staring out beyond the fractured horizon, towards the buildings that rose beyond it. The last of the stars were being wiped from the sky, strands of pinks and oranges bringing the sun. His legs were flung out over the edge, hands on the wrought-iron railing, holding so tightly that his knuckles were white. His eyes were wet and wide and unblinking, mind racing and heart pounding and breaths coming in shallow, quick gasps that waivered and sent his body trembling. His lips moved in unknown words, silent and indistinguishable.

"Doctor?" She reached up and placed her own hand on his, feeling the way his fingers were shaking. This seemed to break him from his trance just enough for those intangible words to become horse whispers that weren't in a language she could understand. "Doctor." Rose said a bit more forcefully. His head shot to look at her, eyes not quite focusing. " 'S alright, Doctor," she reassured him, gently prying his fingers from the cold rail and taking them into hers.

"I can't do this." He stood abruptly, dashing out the front door before she could even blink.

xXxXx

"Pete, I think the Doctor's on his way over." She paused, listening to the confused questioning of her step father as she grabbed a coat and dashed out the door.  
"What? Why? What's going on?"

"I don't know. Some sort of nightmare, I think. I'll be there in a few minutes." She hung up before anything more could be said, digging he keys out of the pocket of her jacket and prying open her car door.

xXxXx

"Can't do what?" She asked quietly, peeking her head into the dusty room, finding the Doctor's hunched form quickly. He turned slightly, and suddenly she was remember all the times when an adventure didn't end well and the Doctor would just stand, just like that, looking at her with those sad eyes that were usually so bright. His hands would be in his pockets, long coat flung back and she would wrap her arms around him because that's the only thing she knew how to do. They would say nothing and yet say everything, and then he would force a smile and they'd move on, they'd run away. And that's what he was trying to do now, trying to run away from something that was following at his heels.

"Six months. If I can make a sonic screwdriver. If not, then…I don't know."

Rose pulled herself into the attic, lingering near the small hatch that lead downstairs, confused. "What?"

"The TARDIS. She'll be flight worthy in six months, thanks to that stuff from Torchwood. As long as I can get my hands on a sonic. Otherwise, it might be years. Too many years." (She wondered if he meant too many years for them to still be alive, or too many years for him to deal with being stuck here.)

"Can't do what?" She asked again, not allowing him to lead her away from this conversation like she might have before. He looked away, staring at the slightly pulsing light growth light from Jeniviron that he had modified for the TARDIS.

"I don't know. Everything. All of this." He fell silent for a second. "One heart. No TARDIS. No Sonic, no psychic paper. Be domestic."

She inched closer, crossing half the distance between them. "Are you okay?"

"No."

She hadn't expected the truth. (She never expected the truth from him, really. He lied too much for her to.)

Rose was standing beside him now. " You have a TARDIS. You will, at least. And you can make a sonic, yeah?"

"Maybe. I don't know if this universe will have the right parts, or if I'll be able to get the ones I need from here."

"As for the heart…you're wrong." She lifted her hands to his chest, right where his hearts had been. Under one was the dull thub-thump of a human heart. The other was empty. When he lifted his hands to hers, she pulled one over her own heart. "See? It's right there."

The Doctor smiled sadly. ( Because that really was so very accurate. She had stolen his heart long ago, though, before all of this.)

"Always has been. You remember that, alright?"

And he wondered if he should kiss her then. ( It was very nearly a confession, a confession that he shared. A confession that they had both said but both were pretending they hadn't. ) But he didn't. Instead, he pulled her hands from hers and shoved them into the pockets of his pajama pants, keeping the forced smile on his lips. "I should go apologize. I think I woke Jackie up."

She could almost see the brown coat swishing behind him as he left. ( He was trying so very hard to run away.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Short chapter today, sorry. ^.^ **

_"Rose!" Fingers reached blindly for hers, just centimeters from reaching. "Hold on, I'll find something to pull you up. Stay there!"_

"Where would I go?" She asked, but he had already moved and couldn't see her face, couldn't see the bitter, sad smile that she gave because she knew where she could go.

There was nothing. Nothing but the cliff into nothing and Rose and him. No sticks or ropes or branches. No safety. He scrambled back to the edge, but she was already slipping too far for him to dream of reaching. It doesn't mean he didn't try.

"I'm sorry." She said, that bitter smile still on her face.

And then she fell. 

"Rose." It was a slurred, panicked whisper, a smeared dab of bright paint against the dark canvas that was the night. " Rose."

"Doctor…?" Rose's voice cut a thin slit into his nightmare, like the thin beam of light that was following her through the door to his bedroom. He shot up, his eyes darting around the room as if looking desperately for something. She slowly made her way into the room, sitting lightly on the edge of his bed beside him.

"Rose." He noticed her and the all-too-fast beating of his heart slowed. Frantic fingers fumbled across her skin – cheeks, shoulders, elbows, hands. " You're okay." He breathed as looked at him in amused concern.

" 'Course I am," She replied, a quizzical smile making its way onto her lips. "Are you?"

He didn't speak for a few long seconds in which he questioned his sanity. "I think so."

"Was it a bad dream?" He ignored her questions, holding her hand tight, like a lifeline. She had fallen into the voice she used when Tony woke up like this. (But his nightmares were of dancing eggplants and flying turtles, not of things that were all too easily real.) "Do you want to tell me about it?"

The Doctor paused and then lied quietly, shaking his head. "I don't remember it."

An ambulance wailed past, a one-float parade of blaring sounds and flashing lights that sent their shadows jumping against the walls.

Rose pulled her legs up onto the bed and folded them under herself, watching him all the while.

"You were gone." He finally admitted once the wailing siren faded to become quiet background noise. "You slipped – you were falling and I couldn't pull you back up. I watched you fall – watched you die."

"But I'm right here," she reassured him, squeezing his fingers lightly. "I'm alive and I'm right here."

"Why aren't you asleep?"

"I…don't sleep much."

"But you should."

"I'm used to it." Rose replied simply, looking towards the window before sighing. "You should go back to sleep." She rose to leave, loosening her grip on his hand.  
He didn't do the same.

"Stay." His fingers tightened over hers. "Please?" (It was more a request than a question, with the added option of saying no.)

She paused for a second, ( Wondering if she _should_ take that option and leave, but also wondering if she _could._ She found she couldn't.)  
(He wondered where they stood, if she would protest if he pulled her closer.) (He would never know if he never tried.)  
He tugged on her hand, another request with the option of not abiding. But like before, she did, sliding closer until only inches stood between them.

They both pretended to sleep as he flung an arm around her waist and pulled her even closer.

They both pretended to sleep as she reached for his hand.

They both pretended to sleep as he pressed a light kiss into her hair.

They both slept (A peaceful, nightmare-free sleep, free of crying out and waking up,) for the first time in what seemed to be years.

She wasn't there when he woke up.

**Reviews are excellent! Drop me a few? **


	5. Chapter 5

She wasn't there when he woke up.

He should have known, really, that she wouldn't be there beside him. It was too good, the feel of her lying next to him, in his arms. Too simply perfect - too perfectly simple for the complicated lives they were creating.

Had she ever been there? Was that feeling just something his mind had created to torture and mock him with the fact that it didn't happen when he wake up? (His dreams, like the universe, had a terrible sense of humor.) Maybe he was on the TARDIS and all of this – the past few weeks, the Daleks and the Metacrisis and the small but quickly growing TARDIS in an attic – was a dream.

The pounding of his single heart in his chest had never felt as fantastic as it did right then. The Doctor reluctantly willed his eyes to open and found himself staring up at the off-white ceiling painted with the light seeping through the window curtains. The sharp chirps of the birds outside and the drone of cars and the sound of an airplane passing overhead were definitely not the dull hum of the TARDIS. It was not a dream. (Not this at least. Rose ever being there, waking him from his nightmare and consoling him was still something that hadn't been proven.)

And in the moment when he opened his eyes and saw that it wasn't a dream, he realized that he was happy. Happy to be here on the small, watery rock that was Earth. Happy that he only had one heart (in his own chest) no (flight worthy) TARDIS, and no sonic screwdriver. He was happy that he was _here_ with Rose Tyler, the woman he loved and hadn't told nearly often enough. He was going to have to fix that quickly. He moved so quickly he nearly fell out of the bed.

xXxXxXx

He found her on the couch, flipping through the pages of a book that he sure she's read at least twice since the beach with one hand, and her fingers curled around a mug of dark coffee. She didn't notice him at first, hardly giving him a glance as he knelt in front of her, pressing his hands against the slick leather of the sofa. "Rose,"

She looked then, smiling at him briefly before frowning. " You hog the blankets." She said, and suddenly she was being pulled closer to him and pushed back against the back of the couch and his lips are pressed against hers. ( She _had _been there, she _had _stayed – this confirmation overjoyed him.) The taste of coffee of her coffee was on her lips, the strong smell of the earthy drink filling the gaps left between the sweet smell of Rose's apple-blossom shampoo. Her fingers were still laced around the mug as his hands find her waist, pulling her closer if possible and she laughed against his lips. Eventually they broke away out of a mutual need for air, but their faces remained close, foreheads pressed together and noses brushing.  
"Um…" She stared at him, wide eyed, mouth twitching into a smile. " Hi. " Rose managed after a moment, finding her voice.

"Hello," he grinned back.

"He-" She nearly repeated herself, catching on the word and clearing her throat. " That was…unexpected."

"Good? Bad? Really have to know the details, Miss Tyler."

"…good, I'd say. Very good." She nodded, pulling at a strand of hair that had worked its way free of the messy ponytail that it had been in. He reached up, brushing it behind her ear, smiling gently. There was silence then, somehow the same comfortable silence that they couldn't have seemed to find since the last time they kissed and he nearly felt bad breaking it.

"I love you, Rose." ( _Nearly_ felt bad. But the strange half-smile that those words put on her lips and the feel of finally saying them in a voice louder than a whisper made it worth it.)

Rose didn't say anything for a moment. "Quite right, too." (Those words had passed his lips once before, when he was buying for time to not say the only words he ever wanted to say. And now they passed hers for the same reason. She loved the Doctor – she loved him, the one who showed her the stars, and she loved _him, _the man who had stayed with her and loved her and was a rather fantastic kisser, but her mouth had not caught up to her heart, not quite yet. She was buying time until it did.)

**Aaand a slightly fluffy chapter! Savor it while you can, my friends. BWAHAHA****I mean what? No, this story is ONLY FLUFF FROM HERE ON. That sentence is not a lie in the least bit. Not at all. No idea about what you're talking about ,only fluff and happiness found here.**

….well, anyway. I hope you enjoyed this rather late chapter. I'll try to get back onto all of my regularly scheduled postings soon. Until then, mind giving me a comment? They make me as happy as…something. Just something. Make up something on your own. That's how happy they make me. :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Been long enough, hasn't it? Apologies. I don't really have much of an excuse, though. All the same, I'm back. :D Enjoy!**

The next few weeks were spent in a whirlwind of laughter and comfortable silences, and for the first time since that day on the beach, they believed that they were truly happy. The smiles were genuine ones, with tongues against teeth and small laughs in their throats. They were for that time, The Doctor and Rose Tyler, together, as it should be.

It was on lazy morning with strong tea and no sugar that the words finally came. It was said softly, between bites of breakfast.

"I love you." The Doctor's jam-covered fingers stopped halfway into his mouth, the jar in his hand. Rose didn't look as if she had said anything - She was sorting through yesterday's mail, eyes skimming over a letter that was held in one hand, her other holding a half-eaten piece of toast, as it seemed that she had been for the past couple of minutes. But it had been her voice.

"What?" He asked, needing to make sure that he wasn't dreaming. Rose glanced up, a small smile briefly gracing her lips.

"I love you." She repeated, setting the mail down.

"Ah." He set the jar behind him, licking off his fingers and sitting across from her, grinning from ear to ear. "Well that's…" he trailed off, unsure of what it was. (It wasn't brilliant, it was better than that.) "I love you, too."  
She set the toast down as well, fingers of one hand curling around her mug as she pulled it to her mouth and the fingers of her other curling around his. "Your hands are sticky." Rose tried to look cross, but her grin was growing to match his. "You're worse than Tony."  
"Sorry," he replied, but didn't really look like he was. (They might have been words that they both already knew, but some things do need saying.)

It wasn't clear who moved first – maybe it was both of them, simultaneously – but in a moment the tea was set down and his sticky fingers were in her hair and they were leaning across the table, jam-tinted lips against tea stained ones.  
They were laughing before they even broke apart.

"I love you, my Doctor." Rose said again, a giggle escaping with her words. (Her Doctor – he wondered if that was intentional. Her Doctor, the one sitting across the table from her in his stripy pajamas with sticky fingers and jam-and-tea lips and not the one a universe away. Her Doctor, the one that stayed.)

And then those quiet confessions – reminders – were added to the daily routine that they were falling into so easily.


	7. Chapter 7

A few days after, the cupboards seemed as if they had exploded - everything edible in the small flat sitting in an obscure circle around them. There was two definite piles - one full of things that The Doctor decided that he didn't like, which included but was not limited to: anchovies, frozen strawberries (fresh ones were perfectly alright,but not frozen,) asparagus, spinach and soy sauce. The other, much larger pile held everything that he did like - chocolate cake, jam, bananas, tea - and in front of him sat the one thing he loved, cross-legged in the middle of the slightly cramped kitchen. Rose. The image was tainted, however, by the fact that she was holding one of the things that he hated. A pear.

"Just a bite!" She pleaded, grinning a small, tongue-touched grin at the petulant child of a man in front of her. He shook his head. "You might like them this time," she prodded.

"No, I really don't think so. It's a matter of principle, anyway. I'm not going to try it."

Rose sighed, taking a bite of the pear and shrugging. "They taste different here."

"Still pears."

"Still stubborn." She replied, leaning closer to him. ( He could smell the offending fruit on her.)  
(He couldn't bring himself to mind too terribly.)

"It's a constant."

"What?"

"Two things have become constants." He began to explain, amused expressions on both of their faces. "Hating pears, and loving you." There was a thin pause as he considered her words for a moment. " And - being stubborn. So, three things have become contents."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He confirmed with a nod of his head.

They fell into a content silence filled with hesitant smiles and curious glances that spoke no words but desperately wanted to. Eventually those words spilled over with a sigh.

"Can I ask you a question?" Rose asked softly, taking another bite of the pear.

The Doctor pulled a face at her action, smiling lightly as he nodded.

"After I-" She faltered here, for a moment, then barreled on. " - was trapped here - I began to dream. Of Bad Wolf. And - of what happened, on the Game Station."

Silence swept over them, filling the brief pause that followed her statement. (They had once again found the comfortable silence that they had once upon a time had.)

"You kissed me." (Contrary to what she had said, it wasn't a question but a statement.)

"Yeah. Had to, you understand."

"Oh." Her voice fell a bit, not hiding well at all the fact that she had hoped that it had meant something - that he had shared her feelings...that she was not romanticizing his saving of her life.

"Of course - could have just touched you." He added quickly, noticing. "Didn't really need to kiss you."

"But you did."

"Exactly."

"Why?"

He took a moment, grabbing a half-eaten apple and taking a bite of it before replying with a small shrug. "Because I wanted to."

"And - how long had you wanted to?"

He paused, thinking for a moment. "Charles Dickens." (It was only the tiniest bit a lie - he was sure that it was before then, but in the basement, surrounded by things that wanted to kill them ( A slightly disturbing trend that had begun) was the first time he distinctly remembered thinking that it might be someone that he would enjoy.)

"Why hadn't you?"

"I was an old, broken man. I couldn't - I didn't deserve you. Don't deserve you, even now. I'm still an old, broken man. But - you've helped."  
She watched him, for a moment, and he watched back. His eyes were still haunted, as they always had been, from the day he had said run. Her eye's pained shadow was so much more fresh. Canary Wharf had been a wound that was just now healing, still raw and sore but better. (So very much better, now that they were together.)

She leaned closer, pressing her lips gently against his, nearly hesitantly, like the words they had said two mornings ago over tea and jam had just been a dream and he would pull away. (This was still something they were unfamiliar with, but they were learning.)

As the Doctor pulled Rose closer, he decided that he could put up with the taste of pears when they were mixed with Rose. ( But only when they were mixed with Rose, and not that he would ever tell her that. She would count it as a victory).


End file.
